


you are made of sugar, milk, and molasses

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale accidentally causing YET another disaster, Great Molasses Flood of 1919, Idiots in Love, M/M, YES it was a real thing that happened you can google it if you’d like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley is finishing up his work on the 18th Amendment when he gets a letter from Aziraphale requesting his presence in another city. Surely a bit of innocent catching up can’t go wrong?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	you are made of sugar, milk, and molasses

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt this week was “cracky historical events” and this event IMMEDIATELY popped into my mind, though I did take a few liberties in terms of what caused it to happen and the time of day it occurred. Also, while the 18th Amendment was in fact ratified the day after this event occurred, it didn’t go into effect for another year or so.

A bitter gust of wind prowled the streets of the city, cutting through the scant layers of Crowley’s clothing. He grimaced and fought off a shiver as he drew his coat tighter around his slim torso. This close to the harbor, the air was thick with sea salt and smog that poured in from ship engines. He wandered into the burying ground nearby and threw himself onto a bench there, legs and arms splayed across it as far as they could reach. If anything, the gravestones surrounding him would provide reading material until his companion arrived. 

He’d been on assignment in D.C for the past few months, doing everything in his power to see the 18th Amendment ratified. It had been quite some time since his last overwhelming success, and Downstairs was getting agitated. He had caught wind of the Americans’ plan to prohibit all alcohol, and decided it would be easy enough to pass off as his own idea. A grin passed across his face as he imagined the petty squabbles and general level of irritation that the prohibition would cause. 

Just as he’d been preparing to go home, a letter appeared on the desk in his short-lease apartment. The seal was plain, but the impeccable, flowing cursive handwriting inside gave it away immediately. Aziraphale was also across the pond, and had requested a meetup in Boston. The angel had been sent over to assist the flu outbreak at its starting point, and had neglected to leave his post after the assignment was up. Intrigued by this, Crowley agreed and found himself in the brick laden city a few days later. 

Not sure what all the fuss is about, he mused to himself. It wasn’t the most impressive city he’d seen by far, and the frigid temperatures and considerable wind gusts certainly left something to be desired. His musing was cut off by the appearance of a white haired figure across the burial grounds, steadily approaching. He lifted his hand in a lazy greeting and received a bright smile in return. 

“Hello, Crowley! Enjoying the view, are you?” He looked past Aziraphale at the river behind them, full of ugly steam ships. Crowley shrugged. The angel sat next to him on the bench and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from his coat. 

“I suppose. So what’s keeping you in the city, then,” he asked after a moment. Aziraphale turned to beam at him then, a gentle wiggle emerging from his shoulders.

“Oh, what isn’t, my dear boy! This place is rich with history, it was the starting place for the American Revolution!” 

“Bloody colonists,” Crowley murmured. Aziraphale continued on, unperturbed.

“Not to mention the universities, and the hospitals, and they’ve got the loveliest library! Oh, and the food! Crowley, you simply  _ have  _ to try the food, the steamed lobster is to die for. It comes smothered in hot butter and served on a warm roll, I insist you try some.” As Aziraphale rambled on for a few minutes about the different types of seafood he’d been sampling in the past months, a fond smile tugged at the edges of Crowley’s lips. Leave it to the angel to fall madly in love with a second rate American city when he could be relaxing in the tropics with a snap of his fingers. After a few moments, he trailed off.

“Oh, my apologies Crowley, you must be terribly bored of this by now. Please, let me treat you to some lunch?” Crowley regarded him with a tilted head, taking in the sincere uptick of his eyebrows and the wideness of his eyes.

“Any good beer around?”

——

The next few hours were spent alternating between sight seeing and bar hopping, a favorite pastime of Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s, respectively. They maintained a steady buzz with the different types of ales offered across the city, and Aziraphale walked the streets with a relaxed hand on his plump stomach, a dead giveaway that he was pleasantly full. They’d taken in two museums, three schools, six bars, and nearly a dozen other spots by the time the sun turned the river’s surface a molten golden color. Finally, they settled back into their original meeting spot to watch the ships come and go.

“Alright, angel, I’ll admit. It is a nice city, if you look past the weather.” He took a deep draw from the wine they’d been sharing and passed the bottle off. Aziraphale sipped daintily at it and rested it against his thigh. 

“I’m glad you had a good time, my dear. It has been so nice to see you again, especially after all this terrible flu business.” Crowley scratched at his cheek, hoping to pass off the rosey tinge blooming there as a result of the alcohol. 

“Good to see you too,” he said. “Coming home anytime soon?” Aziraphale turned suddenly to face him, his wine stained lips parted in a perfect ‘o’. It took a moment for Crowley to process the words that had slipped from his mouth. 

“To London, I mean! Coming back to London, of course. Doesn’t matter though, really, I’m sure you’ll be doing the same thing wherever you go,” he babbled. Aziraphale’s gaze never left his face, and he found himself snatching the bottle back just to form a distraction. He downed the rest of it and shivered as another blasted current of wind floated down the street. Aziraphale shook himself from his stupor and looked down at Crowley’s outfit.

“Oh Crowley, you really must start dressing for the weather instead of the fashion. You look freezing!” He lifted a hand to feel the temperature of Crowley’s cheek and paused just before they made contact. Swallowing, he pulled it back. 

“Well, we can’t have that”, he said, and made to snap his fingers. Crowley sat up.

“Angel, wait!” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the surrounding area jumped up in temperature significantly, leaving the freezing point behind and settling into an altogether more pleasant range. Crowley whipped his head around wildly.

“You shouldn’t mess with that sort of thing, Aziraphale! You could have just miracled me a thicker coat or something.” 

“Nonsense, the people in this poor city have had quite the awful year, and I thought it only fair to warm them up a bit too.” Crowley went to protest, but dropped it at the devious expression on Aziraphale’s face. Fine, he thought. Let the angel have his fun. He liked it when the bastard parts of him shone through anyway. 

They sat there in companionable silence for a few moments, each wondering what to say to the other. Crowley had a sudden thought, and leaned up to voice it.

He was abruptly cut off by what sounded like an elevated train passing overhead, followed by staccato bursts of noise like gunshots. They turned to each other and then to the source of the noise. A few hundred yards away, across the street, a metal tank the size of a building had begun to spring a leak.

“Is that….do you smell...molasses, Crowley?” He jumped to his feet and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm, dragging him up with him. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” he said. The second the words left his lips, the tank burst at the seams, exploding outwards and sending a violent rush of air at them. They looked on in steadily growing horror as a two-story tall wave of molasses poured from it and advanced in every direction. Crowley turned to Aziraphale and tugged on his sleeve again, to no avail. The angel kept his gaze fixed on the oncoming storm.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh, fuck.”

-

Decades later, on a hot summer day, Crowley strolled down a cobblestone sidewalk in the North End. He had just finished messing with the soon to be former President, and figured he was due a few small miracles to himself. If he wanted to use them to bring fresh cannolis from a local bakery back across the ocean to Aziraphale, that was his business and his business alone. 

As he traipsed down the sloped street, the sticky smell of molasses seeped into his nose and refused to leave, a rightful reminder of his disastrous first visit to the city.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: this really did happen in Boston, and the North End really did stink of molasses during the summer for the next few decades! Rapidly changing temperatures and a lack of safety checks are thought to have caused it. History, kids: it’s a trip. 
> 
> Title comes from “Molasses” by The Hush Sound.


End file.
